


Plan B

by airebellah



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Boss!Tony, Breaking and Entering, Drunken Shenanigans, First Meetings, Intercrural Sex, Intern!Peter, Interns & Internships, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Office Sex, Power Imbalance, Underage Drinking, public bathroom sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: Peter had gone all through high school without once succumbing to peer pressure. Possibly because he didn’t drink. That was nineteen-year-old Peter’s first mistake. The second was letting it slip that he knew the secret code to enter Tony Stark’s penthouse above Stark Industries, where he had recently started interning.The third mistake was ever being friends with Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones in the first place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyoooo, look who's back! This is a three part-er, but don't worry -- the other parts are written (just waiting for edits), so you won't be left waiting.... *side-eyes 'give me your wallet'*

“We are _not_ breaking into Stark Tower!” Peter exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. He turned to Ned, expecting his friend to vigorously shake his head in agreement.

“Well…” Ned drawled instead, shrugging and turning back to Michelle, who smirked triumphantly. “I mean, you make his lab sound so cool!”

“And,” Michelle interjected. “You said so yourself -- he’s out of town!”

“Guys, I _just_ got this internship!” He cleared his throat against his increasing whiny pitch. “I’m not going to risk it just so you can -- what, spray paint ‘Down with the Patriarchy’ on Mr. Stark’s bedroom wall?”

Michelle sniffed indignantly, arms crossing as she looked away. _“Capitalist_ patriarchy,” she corrected.

Peter groaned, smacking his forehead. “Guys, no.”

 

Three hours and half a dozen beers later, Peter was giggling as he stumbled along the pavement toward Stark Tower. “Guys, shh!” he hissed as his friends pressed against him. “I’ve-I’ve gotta... “ Peter shook his head, trying to un-jumble his thoughts. “I’m gonna show the guard my badge. I’ll meet you guys at the elevators.”

“Make sure he’s turned away!” Ned whispered hurriedly as Peter made towards the entrance.

“Yeah, distraction!” announced Michelle as she turned around and arched her spine, hand rubbing her ass suggestively. “With some of this, y’know what I’m saying?”

Peter recoiled, jaw dropping in horror. “MJ, I’m not… whoring myself out!” he sputtered, turning around and stomping toward the front before he lost his nerve.

“You’re only a whore if you get paid!” she shouted, before Ned and she dissolved into raucous laughter.

Peter fought against his growing blush as he carefully stepped toward the front desk in the straightest line he could manage. _Heel, ball, toe… heel, ball, toe,_ he chanted as he fought to put one foot in front of the other. The guard’s eyes flickered up from his computer disinterestedly.

“Good evening, sir,” Peter greeted politely as he leaned against the desk. He hoped the man didn’t notice the way Peter’s fingers whitened as he gripped onto the wood for dear life.

“Scan your card,” the guard instructed with a dismissive wave.

“Oh. Right. Um.” He had prepared for a bit of a drilling, given the hour. But then again, Mr. Stark was reportedly quite eccentric; he likely had people in at all hours, at least to the business floors.

Peter fumbled as he pulled the card from his wallet, barely having to act as his sweaty, shaking fingers slid against the card. “Oops!” he called, just a split second too early as the card flew across the desk and over the guard’s right shoulder. The man pinned him with an unimpressed glare.

“I’ll just… get that, then,” Peter muttered. He walked around the desk, trying to sway his hips in that effortlessly sultry strut Michelle often attempted to teach him. She said he looked more like limp spaghetti. He glanced over at the stone-faced guard. Apparently the man thought so, too.

Peter bit his lip as he bent down, discreetly angling his hips in the other’s direction as he reached down to his toes. And then he was sprawling to the ground, elbows banging against the floor because, _nope,_ not a good idea to bend down when drunk.

“You okay, son?” the guard asked gruffly, hauling Peter up none too gently to his feet.

“Vertigo,” Peter groaned, hand slapping against his churning stomach. He gripped the guard’s arm as his head swam, breathing slowly through his nose until it passed. But over the man’s shoulder, he caught sight of Michelle and Ned slipping through the entrance. He waited a beat, until they were out of sight, before chirping a merry, “Thanks!” and scampering away.

“Hey, hold up!”

Peter froze, debating the merits of hightailing it out of there. But he couldn’t leave his friends, and besides, the guard would undoubtedly catch him in no time.

“You forgot to scan your card.”

Peter’s shoulders sagged in relief as he turned back around with a sheepish grin. “Oh, of course!”

He dearly hoped he would never have to see the man again as he quickly scanned his card and speed-walked around the corner toward the elevators. Ned and Michelle were crouched behind an artificial plant with hands inefficiently covering each other’s mouths. Rolling his eyes, Peter jammed his finger into the call button with unnecessary force. His friends remained in their covert hiding place until the elevator doors slid open. Peter stepped inside, only slightly swaying now, as Michelle rolled (narrowly avoiding her forehead colliding with the frame) and Ned shuffled inside, hands clasped in a faux-gun as he looked back and forth over each shoulder.

“You guys are literally the lamest people I’ve ever met,” Peter grumbled as he keyed in the code for the penthouse; he purposefully shielded the keypad from their sight with his body, evoking a scoff from Michelle.

“Dude, shut up.” Ned grinned from where he sat in the corner. “You love us.”

While the original mission was to visit the high-tech lab, Peter had accidentally let it slip that Dr. Banner had recently given him the keycode to Tony Stark’s private suite. (Apparently he hoarded all the best teas, and Dr. Banner had had his microscope at _precisely_ the right magnification, taking copious notes of a bacteria with a waning half-life, otherwise he would have never dreamed of making someone perform such a servile task. Besides, Tony was out of town, he had explained.) So now here Peter was, not only roped into smuggling his friends into his workplace after hours, but personally escorting them to his boss’s penthouse.

“You guys can’t touch _anything,”_ he stressed as the elevator continued its ascent. “I mean it.” Ned nodded solemnly while Michelle innocently picked at her nails. “MJ…” he wheedled.

“What?” she asked innocently.

Ned snorted. “I’m pretty sure she’s got a spray can in there,” he confessed, nodding at her bag.

“MJ!” Peter yelped just as she hissed, “Ned!”

Peter lunged forward, ripping her satchel off her shoulder. Flipping open the top, he groaned as his eyes immediately landed on a can of bright red spray paint. “You know I signed in downstairs, right?” he fumed. “If you damaged something, I’d be the first person they came for!”

Michelle scoffed as she leaned against the mirror wall, hands on her hips. “Only ‘cause you two wimps refused to scale the walls.”

“You don’t know how to…” He continued to root through her bag of horrors, but his sneer fell as his hand wrapped around cool metal. “Is this a grappling hook?” he gasped.

Michelle pinned him with narrowed eyes as her chin raised haughtily. “Don’t I, though?”

Ned and Peter turned to each other, gulping nervously.

“Look, okay, I’m going to give you this back,” he said as he shoved the bag into a chuckling Michelle’s arms. “Because frankly, I don’t want to know what else you might have hidden in there. But _guys,_ seriously, be cool. This is my future at stake, okay?”

Michelle and Ned nodded solemnly, and continued to act surprisingly sober for all of five seconds until the elevator pinged, door sliding open to reveal a vast expanse of cherry-wood floors and blindingly white, minimalist furniture.

All three murmured some variation of _holy shit,_ including Peter, because he was sure he could never get accustomed to such opulence. (He still pinched himself daily to be sure that he had an actual, genuine, paid-for internship with Stark Industries. In fact, he had had to switch to pinching his right arm because his left became semi-permanently bruised.)

“I bet his toilet paper feels like silk,” Ned sighed.

“And the seat probably warms up,” Michelle huffed. “Only the best for Tony Stark’s pale ass.”

The two exchanged a gleeful look before racing down the hall on the right. “Hey, I’m pretty sure the bathroom is this way!” Peter called, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. It’s not like he had snooped around or anything when he was up here retrieving tea, but, well, he may have gotten a bit lost on the way to the kitchen. Despite the open concept.

Shaking his head, Peter trailed down the opposite hall from his friends, casually peeking past every door until he came upon it -- Tony Stark’s room. He couldn’t shake the need to peek over his shoulder, make sure no one was watching, before creeping inside. The room was, somewhat disappointingly, devoid of any personal touch. There was a bed in the middle, and a nightstand on one side. That was it.

The table didn’t even hold any photographs, or memorable knick-knacks. There were doors on either wall, presumably leading to an en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet respectively. But Peter drifted toward the foot of the bed. Despite the impersonal ambience of the room, his fingertips burned at the intimacy of dragging along Stark’s silken bedspread. The thought of his boss, and long-time personal hero, sleeping here, doing -- _other things,_ in this bed, on this sheet…

Thankfully, before he could get too wrapped up in that (terribly tempting) train of thought, Peter’s ringtone filled the air. He fumbled for his phone, about to switch off the ringer when he noticed the caller ID. “Ned?”

“You didn’t just, like, secretly go into the elevator and then come back out, right?” his friend whispered through the phone.

“No?”

He heard Michelle swear in the background.

“Dude, this is not good! I think-I think someone’s here.”

“No, no, no!” Peter groaned, frantically running a hand through his hair.

“Wait, quiet!” Michelle hissed. There was a pause. Ned groaned, “Oh my god…” as Michelle said, “Yup, Tony fucking Stark.”

“What?” Peter’s stomach felt like it was trying to crawl up his throat and splatter onto his fraying sneakers. “This can’t be happening!”

“Where are you?” Ned asked. “We’re in some kind of, like, closet. Only it’s bigger than my parents’ living room and dining room combined -”

“I’m in his bedroom, Ned!” Peter exclaimed. “His _bedroom!”_

“What’re you doing in _there?”_

Ned sounded unreasonably scandalized, and Peter felt his cheeks heat. “N-nothing!” he snapped.

“No, this is perfect!” Michelle gasped suddenly. There was the sound of fumbling, then Michelle was panting directly into the microphone. “You’re gonna distract him.”

“Me?” Peter rasped. “Why me? I’m the only one here who can get fired!”

“Peter, listen to me!” she ordered hurriedly. “It’s time for plan B. You gotta suck his dick. It’s the only way.”

He almost dropped the phone from his hands. “W-what?” he croaked. “‘Plan B’? You thought of this in advance?”

“Ugh, stop acting like you don’t have a raging hard-on twenty-four seven for the man.”

“Dude…” Ned coaxed slowly. “She’s right. You gotta.”

“Did you guys smoke something while I was in here?” he demanded faintly. “That’s not - no, _no._ First of all, just -- no. Second of all, there’s, like, a million other possibilities that don't involve me sucking Mr. Stark’s dick!”

“Sucking _whose_ dick, now?”

The force with which Peter's heart came to a stop left a deep ache in his ribs. The phone dropped from his hands, a muted _“Peter? Peter!”_ vaguely reaching his ears. He unfortunately did not need to turn around to confirm his living nightmare because then Tony Stark was there in front of him, bending down in a exquisite, charcoal-gray three-piece suit to pick up the phone.

 _“Peter_ is currently otherwise engaged,” he instructed smoothly. “I suggest you vacate my premises immediately.”

“We’re not leaving without our friend, dipshit!” Michelle yelled in response. Tony stared at Peter, brow raised.

Swallowing back his instinct to spontaneously go into cardiac arrest, Peter leaned forward as close as he dared and replied, “Guys, it’s okay. I’ll-I’ll see you later. I promise, just go.”

Tony continued to stare at him, lips curving ever so slightly at the corner as he pressed end call. “Last name’s Parker, right?”

“You know my name?” he squeaked.

Tony simply tossed the phone Peter’s way; Peter fumbled to catch it, turning to see the older man exit the room and down the hall. He shot Ned and Michelle a quick text, confirming he was all right, before following. He was just in time to see Tony turn a corner, not even bothering to look back as he crooked his fingers invitingly.

“Bruce has been singing your praises for weeks, kid,” he said.

“Bruce? You mean… you mean Dr. Banner?” Peter asked dubiously as he mindlessly trailed. “Dr. Banner knows my name?”

Tony snorted. “You do know you work here, right?” He paused, finally looking over his shoulder. “Maybe I should clarify. You work in this _building,_ not actually inside my private suite. Did they not explain that in orientation?”

“I-I,” Peter stuttered. “Sir, I can explain, I-”

“Want a drink?” he interrupted. Quickly tiring of Peter’s gaping mouth, he prompted, “Are you even old enough to drink?”

 _No,_ Peter thought desperately. _Michelle stole her older sister’s ID to get us the most alcohol our combined thirty-four dollars could afford._ “Yes, sir,” he said instead.

“Rather polite for a…” Tony trailed off, thumb rubbing over his lips consideringly. “What are you, exactly? Burglar? Voyeur?”

“N-neither, sir.”

Tony chuckled, walking over to a sleek black table with a crystal decanter and matching tumblers. “If I didn’t recognize you,” he started as he pulled the lid off the decanter. “I might think this was some kind of set up.”

“Set up?” Peter echoed, swallowing against the dryness creeping up his esophagus.

Tony’s brow arched suggestively. “From a service.”

“Service -? _Oh.”_

“You moonlighting an as escort, Parker?” he questioned, casually, as though asking if Peter was born in November. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“No, sir!” Peter stared in earnest horror, ignoring the glass of amber fluid Tony’s outstretched arm offered him. “I mean, I would never!”

“Never what, kid?” Tony asked, eyes fluttering shut in the barest of winces as he threw back the rejected drink. “Escort in general, or for me in particular?”

“Escort!” he squeaked. “Nothing against you, sir, but I would never! For, uh, anyone.”

Tony leaned against the table, fingers steepling against his bearded lips. His dark eyes were half-lidded in consternation, brows knitting together. The intern gulped. “Did you really think anything goes on in this building that I don’t know about?” the older man asked.

“Mr. Stark, sir, I’m so sorry. Please - it was a stupid, drunken mistake, please don’t fire me.” He tried to subtly look over his shoulder, make sure Ned and Michelle had really left, safe and sound, but he couldn’t see the front entrance from here.

“Fire you?” Tony snorted. “Frankly, I’m glad you’ve got the balls to do something like this. Bruce said he can barely get a word out of you, you just stammer and blush all pretty like you are now.”

Peter’s initial frown turned to a discomfited grimace as he slowly backed up. “I’ve really enjoyed my time with your company, sir,” he began carefully. “And I know I’ll never get another opportunity like this.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “But I’m not gonna be, like, cowed into performing some sexual favour in exchange for-”

“Woah!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in surrender. “Woah, kid, slow down. I never said that.”

“You - you asked me if I’m an escort, and then just… said I’m pretty! Wh-which I’m not, by the way. Either.”

“It was a joke, kid! Hugely inappropriate, I mean there’s a reason why I gave the reins to Pepper years ago… but a _joke_  nonetheless.” The man sighed, placing his glass on the table. “Why don’t we put this away?” he offered. “I’ll get us some cold water from the fridge. Go on, make yourself at home.”

Peter timidly walked over to the nearest couch-shaped furniture, but ended up merely staring at the shiny material. It looked so pristine and taut, the kind that squeaked and groaned when you tried to sit down.

“I get it, y’know,” Tony said, apropos of nothing as he walked over, handing Peter a bottle of icy-cold water before sitting down. Peter unscrewed the bottle. After feeling the safety seal give, he gratefully chugged it down. “Work for a big-shot celebrity. Want to impress the cool kids at school so you sneak them inside when you think the big, scary boss is out of town.”

“No!” Peter interrupted before Tony could continue. “I mean, yeah, I brought my friends - which, again, sorry. But I wasn’t trying to impress them or act cool. They really wanted to see the lab where I work with Dr. Banner. We were only gonna pop in here for a second. Not that that’s an excuse, sir.”

Tony nodded slowly, elbows resting on his knees as he scratched his chin. “Well. You look properly chastised to me,” he decided. “What’s your first name again, kid?”

“Peter.” It came out more uncertain than he had planned.

“Peter, Peter…” the man considered. “Anyone ever call you Pete?”

He silently shook his head.

“What do you think we should do now, Pete?”

Peter chewed his lip. “You’re not gonna call security?” he asked. “Or kick me out?”

“Nope,” Mr. Stark responded, popping the ‘p’. “But you can go. I’m not holding you, or anything.”

 

They ended up playing a game. Some kind of car racing game; it wasn’t really his type (he and Ned were more into sci-fi/action-adventure), but he was a guest -- an uninvited one, at that. Plus, he didn’t want to seem lame. He probably did anyway, as Tony rattled on about makes and models and Peter threw in a few half-hearted “yeah’s.”

Despite the console being the newest edition, and he accustomed to cheaper, outdated models, the controls were intuitive and pretty soon Peter’s red-and-blue car was in the lead.

“Hey!” he yelped indignantly as Tony’s foot collided soundly with his side, causing him to slide against the floor. (He refused to sit on the couch; it was much too nice for his worn-out jeans.) Peter surreptitiously let his car slow down, snorting as Tony leaned forward, tongue stuck between his teeth as his began to pick up speed. Then, just as Tony’s car was rounding the corner on a cliffside, Peter’s arm struck out and he tickled the man’s foot. Peter had to dive out of the way to avoid getting kicked in the head, but it was worth it to see the man’s pretentious gold Audi plummet into the ocean.

“Ha!” he crowed triumphantly. “I’m gonna win!”

“Wanna bet?” Tony countered, low voice suddenly whispering in Peter’s ear. He hadn’t even noticed the man reposition, and was quickly bracketed by Tony’s knees.

“Wh- hey!” he complained as the remote was plucked out of his grasp and thrown back onto the couch. He tried to scramble up, but his arms were pinned behind his back, body thrust up against Tony’s chest.

“You play dirty,” he hissed as he struggled weakly.

Tony’s chuckle warmed the back of his neck. “Only way I know how.”

He twisted around, just enough to face the man. Tony had plied him with too much water to blame his next action solely on alcohol; but whatever the reason was, he leaned in, lips pressing shyly against his boss’s.

Tony immediately released his hands, and Peter would have jerked back if not for the hands fisting his hair and desperately tugging him forward. He moaned at the sharp jolt to his scalp, clumsily climbing up to straddle the older man’s lap.

“Fuck, kid,” Tony murmured before slipping his tongue into Peter’s mouth and making Peter’s toes curl against the squeaky leather. “You understand what I said, right?” He panted slightly as he pushed down on Peter’s chest to break their kiss. “You don’t owe me any favours. Your internship isn’t jeopardized.”

Peter nodded hastily before surging up once more. They both groaned as, in his haste, he ended up gnashing their teeth together. “Sorry, sir,” he whispered.

Tony squeezed his hip almost painfully tight. “Shit. Keep calling me ‘sir’ and I’m not going to last.”

“Uh, sorry.” He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying ‘sir.’ (He would have to blame his aunt for instilling such good manners in him.)

But perhaps Tony had actually been goading him into saying it more, and Peter’s stilted response killed the moment. Either way, Tony’s hands went from firmly gripping his curls and passionately bruising his hip to gentle patting and stroking, and soon fell away altogether. Tony settled back with a sigh and Peter was left kneeling between the man’s parted legs, shoulders slumping as he stared at the floor.

“I should, um…” Clearing his throat, he pushed back onto his heels to stand. Tony’s hand encircled his wrist, gentle but insistent as he tugged Peter back down.

“Look, kid, you’ve been drinking,” he said.

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but quickly snapped his jaw shut. The rejection would be far less humiliating if he could blame it on alcohol, after all.

“Why don’t we revisit this in a more sober state?”

Forcing his gaze from the floor, Peter shot the older man an encouraging smile. “Yeah. Totally, sir. Understood.”

Tony’s hand brushed against Peter’s forehead, pushing some stubborn strands of hair away before standing up. “I’ll get you set up in a guest bedroom,” he said.

Peter didn’t even bother to argue; he took the room closest to the elevator, nodded and smiled politely as Tony instructed him to help himself to pyjamas, a toothbrush, food, shower, whatever he wanted. He ducked into the bathroom, ear against the door until he heard Tony’s room close down the hall. Then he sprinted to the elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to upload sooner, sorry, been dealing with a personal emergency. Enjoy! :)

He might have believed it was all some kind of weird, humiliating nightmare if he hadn’t woken up to a string of texts from Ned and Michelle, first checking he was all right (even though he had called on his way home last night, to confirm he was), and more importantly, if “Plan B” had really worked.

To his surprise, there was another text. From an unknown number.

_ “I accessed your personnel file for non-business reasons to get your phone number. There’s probably some confidentiality law against that. Guess we’re even?” _

Peter’s eyes scanned over the pixelated words over, and over, and over again. He even considered, fleetingly, screenshotting the message and sending it to Ned to confirm it was  _ real _ _. _ Grinning so widely his cheeks ached, he typed eagerly typed back a reply that he desperately hoped wasn’t as pathetically eager as he felt.  _ “ _ _ Now why ever, Mr. Stark, would you unethically access an intern’s file to acquire their phone number?” _

The reply was near-instantaneous. He let himself fantasize Tony with his phone in hand, biting back a smile at Peter’s response.  _ “To harangue the cutie into a date, of course. Imagine my surprise when my home cooked, from-scratch breakfast-for-two went to utter waste this morning.” _

The sudden shift from giddiness to stomach-churning mortification left him with emotional whiplash. He pressed the call button before he could think twice. “Mr. Stark, please tell me you didn’t!” he exclaimed before the man could even squeeze in a greeting. “Things got so weird last night, and I’d never even met you before, even though I feel like I’ve known you for ages because I’ve had a crush on you since I hit puberty, basically, and working at Stark Industries has always been my dream, but then I broke into your apartment and basically assaulted you, and you let me down easy and gave me a room-”

“Kid, kid, kid! Jesus, you’re going to give me an aneurysm,” Tony snarked. “First of all, before you spiral out anymore, all I technically did was  _ order _ the food. No hard work on my end, and the cook was well compensated regardless. Now, more importantly: what’s this about a crush?”

Peter groaned, falling face-first into his pillow.

“How illegal is it to threaten firing you if I don’t get an answer?” Tony pressed.

Peter groaned even louder. He wondered if it would be possible to smother himself to death, or whether his stupid instinctual drive would kick in.

“If I find your home address and come visit, will I find posters of myself plastered on your wall? On second thought, maybe I  _ should _ be a little more concerned about your B&E…”

Instincts be damned; it was worth a shot.

And then Tony chuckled, and Peter lifted his head from the pillow to press his phone closer to his ears. Maybe he should keep on living after all, he decided. Just about any kind of humiliation was worth that sound.

“I think you mentioned something about a date, Mr. Stark?” he asked, biting his lip nervously.

“What time do I normally let you off on…” His voice became more distant, and it sounded like he was talking to someone else. Peter’s fingers twisted in his comforter; he felt like a silly high schooler, waiting to see if his crush wanted to go to homecoming with him.

“What time do I normally let you off on Tuesdays, Pete?”

“Mm. Well, I have class in the morning, so… like, seven?”

“Make it five, then. I’m taking you out to dinner.”

 

Peter spent the following days _agonizing_ over what Tony meant by dinner. Of course he had mentioned a date earlier in their conversation, but then specifically said _dinner_ _,_ which was open to interpretation. Peter did not do well with uncertainty. It made him anxious, and nauseous, and frankly a little sweaty. He knew to dress nicely, either way; so he ironed (and sewed the ripped seam of) his nicest pants, along with a dress shirt. But then he was running late for class Tuesday morning, and forgot the ensemble.

In fact, Peter forgot about the maybe-date altogether, with the rush of morning classes, the looming threat of upcoming midterms, and his busy work in the lab. He had spent the last few hours prepping bacterial cultures for an ongoing study on immunology. The process of swabbing the sample, spreading the bacteria onto the sterilized culture in careful zig-zags, and repeating had his mind drifting. He didn’t pay much mind to the opening lab door or the approaching footsteps… until they stopped right beside him.

“Do you know what time it is?”

Peter jumped, the bacteria-covered swab in his hand snapping in two. He swiveled around, jaw dropping as his gaze landed upon Tony, casually defying the strict dress code as his arms crossed over his cat-themed shirt and blazer combo. “Guess I can’t compete with E. coli.”

“It’s actually streptococcus pyogenes, sir,” he explained. Then immediately winced, adding, “I swear I didn’t forget, sir -- I mean I did, but only because I lost track of time.”

Tony raised a hand before Peter could explode into a full-blown ramble. “It’s fine, kid. Why don’t you wrap things up here, and then…” he trailed off, eyeing Peter’s scrubs poking out beneath his lab coat. “You’re changing, right?”   
“Yes! I brought…” He would have slapped his forehead, if it weren’t for his potentially-contaminated gloves.  _ “Shoot!” _

Tony’s brow quirked. “Did you just say ‘shoot’?” he asked, somewhat incredulous. “Jesus, how old are you? Do I need to carbon-date you before it’s too late?”

Peter decided to let the dig slide in favour of a more pressing concern. “I still have what I wore here, but I forgot to bring my, uh…” He flushed, scuffing his shoe against the ground. “Y’know, nice clothes.”

Tony just shrugged. “Couldn’t care less, squirt, so long as you don’t wear scrubs stinking of streptococcus-whatever.”

“Pyogenes,” Peter mumbled as he began to stack up the completed petri dishes. “I’ll meet you outside in a sec, Mr. Stark?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Take your time, kid.”

 

Peter glanced around the restaurant, making sure the coast was clear before peeking over his leather dinner menu. Which was all in French. “Uh, Tony?” he whispered.  _ (Tony had requested Peter use his first name on their drive up, muttering under his breath about keeping the “Mr. Stark” and “sir” business for the bedroom. Peter had insisted in return, fighting a blush, that Tony stop calling him “kid.”) _

The older man looked up from his menu, splayed out on the table, with a smirk. “Don’t worry about the prices, Pete.”

“The --?” Peter leaned forward, confessing, “I can’t even read the menu, sir! I took Spanish as my language elective in high school and, up until now, it’s been far more useful!”

Tony chuckled, gently tugging the menu from Peter’s white-knuckled grip. “How about I order for you, okay?” he offered.

Peter bit his lip as he considered. “Nothing weird, though,” he said.

“Weird?” Tony echoed questioningly.

“Yeah, like caviar,” Peter explained, nose scrunching up in disgust.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I have to expand your tastes, kid.”

“I’m quite happy with the current breadth of my tastes, thank you,” he replied. “And I said to stop calling me kid.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tony conceded, throwing up his hands with a far too unapologetic smile.

Unfortunately for Peter, Tony did all the ordering in French. He would just have to trust that Tony didn’t order him anything too far out.

“So,” Tony said once the menus were cleared, elbows resting on the table as his hands clasped under his chin. “Bruce said you’ve read some of his papers, and you were working with him on polymerase-engineered nucleotide modification.”

“I wouldn’t say working with,” Peter interjected. “I was  _ barely _ helping him with some of the lower-level stuff, y’know.”

“Then why did I find you preparing bacterial cultures tonight? We should be putting you to better use.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he argued. “I mean someone’s gotta do it, and I’m an intern. They want us to gain a variety of skills, it’s really multidisciplinary -- and wait, why am I explaining _your_ internship program to you?”

“Even with our rigorous recruitment evaluations, Bruce has rarely been so impressed by a student.” Tony leaned back in his seat, scratching absentmindedly at his cheek. “I want to ensure you’re getting the most out of your internship. I can have you partnered with Bruce for the duration of your time like  _ that _ _ ,”  _ he explained with a snap of his fingers.

“No, Mr. Stark.” The suggestion made him uncomfortable, and he couldn’t help but switch back to the more formal name. “I - I don’t want that. And that’s not why I said yes to dinner with you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Pete,” Tony said slowly, lip curling in a grimace. “No strings attached, I’m simply offering-”

“Don’t,” Peter interjected firmly. “Please don’t offer stuff like that. I don’t want my position to change, even if you think it would be good.”

“Alright, no more shop talk, ‘kay?” Tony offered.

As it turned out, Tony had ordered him some kind of chicken dish. It was pretty tasty, although the portion was rather small. They discussed their personal lives outside the boss/intern parameters. Though Peter couldn’t help but notice Tony asked more questions about Peter than he answered about his own life; Peter couldn’t decide if Tony was very private, or perhaps it was because he knew almost any information could be easily Googled.  _ (Which was fair enough, considering Peter knew far too much about the man, including the fact that he had had a string of casual affairs, mostly with women, but was linked to only one serious relationship: Pepper Potts, current Stark Industries CEO and engaged to another man. Though some tabloids still openly pined for the return of the beloved “Pepperony” power couple. Not that Peter read that tabloid trash. Definitely not.) _

Peter thankfully didn’t receive any strange looks from the waiter for his clothes, but, well, he wasn’t really acknowledged at all. It made sense that Tony did the ordering but even when the cheque arrived, the waiter slipped the black bill folder onto Tony’s side of the table without a word.

Peter immediately reached forward, scowling as Tony held it in the air with a stern look. “Let me pay my half at least, Tony,” he reasoned.

Tony chuckled as he opened the little book. “I know I don’t pay my interns that well.”

Fingers fidgeting uncomfortably, Peter explained, “I don’t want to have to owe you anything.”

Tony’s eyes flickered up, a small furrow to his brows as he examined Peter’s expression. “Alright, let’s make a deal,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “I treat you to dinner, and you can treat me to dessert.” Before Peter could respond, he added, “Actual dessert. Not an innuendo.”

Peter snorted, lips pulling into a smile. “Deal.”

 

Sitting on the peeling fabric of a booth, in a cramped ice cream shop with Tony Stark, was surreal. The man had insisted on a window seat so he could keep a careful eye on his car. Peter had grumbled that not everyone in Queens was a thief, but had otherwise not argued.

But it was a travesty seeing Tony dip a plastic spoon into his ice cream cone, instead of eating the ice cream and delicious waffle-cone-goodness together. One he could allow to go no further.

“That’s not how you eat ice cream,” he chastised.

“It’s called individuality, Pete.” Tony emphasized his retort by puncturing the soft-serve with particular force.

“Eccentricity,” Peter corrected with a snort. “Is this a rich people thing, or a Tony Stark thing?”

Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know.” Peter chewed his lip before explaining, “You don’t like being handed things. That’s weird.”

“How’d you know that?”

_ Shit _ _. _ “Uh…” He stammered for a moment, cheeks heating. “There was an interview you did once,  _ People, _ I think. The interviewer tried to hand you a drink or something at the start, and you told her that. She seemed pretty offended; wrote about it for, like, three or four paragraphs.”

He ducked his head, expecting Tony to laugh at him, or perhaps make a comment about Peter’s borderline-creepiness. He was certainly not prepared for Tony’s surprisingly gentle tone as he asked, “And you… remember that?”

“Well, it’s not  _ that _ hard to remember,” Peter muttered, picking at a chip in the table. “I’m not weirdly obsessed, I don’t have your  _ Wikipedia _ page memorized, or anything.” Not a lie, though he  _ had _ read it a few too many times. “I just… happened to recall that little tidbit, is all.”

He looked up at the sound of Tony’s plastic spoon clattering against the table. And he came to regret ever opening his mouth almost immediately, because watching Tony Stark’s tongue lap at a rapidly melting ice cream cone was downright pornographic. His scalp tingled in memory of Tony’s fingers roughly pulling on his hair before all but shoving that slick, skillful tongue in Peter’s mouth. His own cone, rapidly melting in his grasp, was forgotten as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Alright there, Petey?” Tony asked, thumb rubbing at a spot of chocolate in his beard. Peter could swear the man’s smirk was  _ knowing _ _ , _ and his throat dried up immediately. “Want me to take care of that?”

“Uh, uh.” Peter’s eyes widened in horror as he awkwardly crossed his legs under the table. “What?”

“Your hand,” Tony explained breezily, picking up a napkin and gesturing at the strawberry-flavoured goo dribbling between his fingers.

_ “Oh!” _ Peter gasped, jumping from his seat so quickly his knee knocked against the table. “You don’t need to -” He flapped at Tony’s still outstretched arm with his free hand. “I’ll be right back!”

He all but raced to the bathroom, willing his rapidly growing arousal to  _ chill the heck out. _ He was on a  _ date _ _ ,  _ with Tony-flipping-Stark, and there would likely not be a date number two if he didn’t calm down. Tossing the half-eaten cone in the trash, he ran his sticky hand under the ice-cold tap water.

Hearing the bathroom door creak open, he called out, “Sorry!” as he reached for the paper towel dispenser. “I forget to lock the door.”

The lock clicking into place had Peter whipping around. Tony stepped into the room, tongue running along his bottom lip. “We won’t make that mistake, then,” he said.

“W-what are you doing?” Peter squeaked. The man sauntered toward him, not stopping even as Peter stumbled back, until he was pressed against the wall.

“Stop me if I’m going too fast,” the older man said, forearm resting against the wall beside Peter’s head.

“Huh?” was all Peter managed as he tore his gaze from Tony’s lips hovering dangerously close to his.

“Peter.”

The younger man’s eyes fluttered shut, swallowing thickly at the rough tone. “Yes, okay, I will.”

Tony’s hands gently cupped the back of his hand before pressing in with a bruising kiss. Peter’s hands flew to the lapels of Tony’s jacket, pulling him in closer. Tony obliged, fingers twining in his hair until he gasped, tongue slipping into Peter’s mouth as his knee nudged between Peter’s thighs. 

Peter pulled away with a ragged gasp as Tony’s hips began to cant against his. He bit his lip, still tasting remnants of Tony’s chocolate-sweetened tongue as the older man began to kiss down Peter’s jaw and suck on his neck.

He didn’t stop there, fingers insistently stretching out the neckline of Peter’s cotton tee to lap at his collarbone, shoulder, the top of his sternum. Then Tony released his shirt, only for his mouth to latch onto Peter’s nipple through the fabric.

“Ohh,” he groaned, a shaky hand lifting to hold the back of Tony’s neck encouragingly. But then he man’s mouth was travelling, down to his belly button, lifting the bottom of Peter’s shirt to tug at his belt.

“Tony?” he asked. The only response he got was the billionaire sinking to his knees, the expensive material of his silky-smooth pants rubbing against the grimy, cracked tile of the bathroom floor.

Peter was pretty sure it was the hottest thing he had ever, and would ever, see.

_Scratch that,_ he thought a second later as he watched said billionaire tug down his pants and boxers, take Peter’s cock in hand and _lick his lips_ in anticipation before swallowing Peter down.

“Oh, f-fuck,” he gasped, struggling to keep his eyes open as he was enveloped by the wet heat of Tony’s mouth. But he didn’t want to miss even a second of it, almost more aroused by the  _ sight _ of Tony’s lips stretched around his cock, cheeks hollowing expertly, than the actual sensation.

He wondered if he really should close his eyes, only to stave off his rapidly-building orgasms. His fingers brushed against Tony’s dark curls, which slipped through his fingers with the silken ease that only came the kind of high-end products Peter could never dream of affording. The gentle grip morphed, fingers tightening and tugging on the man’s hair.  

His muscles began to seize, and he thrust into Tony’s pliant mouth. The man let out a ragged moan, fingers digging into Peter’s hips as if he couldn’t get enough, and it had Peter coming in an instant, limbs turning boneless as his head thudded against the wall.

_Holy shit. Holy shit._ He was vaguely cognizant of Tony gently tucking his softening cock back into his boxers, and buttoning Peter's jeans back up. _Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit-_

The press of soft lips against his had Peter finally forcing his eyes open. Tony grinned as he pulled away. “You know you're saying that out loud, right?”

Peter groaned, but the hand that slapped over his eyes in embarrassment was gently tugged away. “So,” Tony continued teasingly. “On a scale of one to  _ “holy shit,” _ how good was -”

“Stop!” Peter spluttered, slapping Tony’s arm as the man chuckled.

“Come on,” Tony murmured, pulling Peter into a slow, open-mouthed kiss. The chocolatey-sweetness of before had been replaced by a salty, musky undertone. “I’ll drive you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Visit me on tumblr for more of my Starker ficlets, to submit requests, and geek out with me over these dorks.](http://airebellah.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Let me know what you think, and thank you so much to all the lovely comments on the previous chapters.

Peter was beyond relieved when he arrived at work the next day and nothing had changed. He received a polite, if distant, smile from the receptionist as he waved his keycard and headed toward the elevators. He was assigned to data analysis today which, while an improvement from spreading around smelly bacteria, wasn’t out of ordinary for his intern duties. It was when he was heading home for the night hours later, and finally checked his phone to see absolutely no missed calls or texts from Tony, that he began to worry.

Right on time for his internal crisis was a message from Ned in their group chat:  _ What happened? Did you guys talk? _

_No,_ Peter replied tersely.

_ Did you eye-fuck across the room, at least?  _ Michelle chimed in.

_ I didn’t even see him, _ he explained.

Ned simply replied, _Huh_ _,_ while Michelle said, _Ned’s place in 30. I’ll bring the beer._

Peter wasn’t normally one to drink and yet there he was, for the second time that week, slightly tipsy.

“I didn’t want anything to change,” he said as he sat on Ned’s carpeted floor, leaning back against Michelle’s legs. “And now… things are _too_ unchanged.”

“Did you try texting him first?” Ned offered.

Peter’s face scrunched up distastefully. “Can I do that?”

Michelle smacked the back of his head -- lovingly. “‘Course you can, you idiot,” she scoffed. “These aren’t the dark ages; you can make the first move.”

“But…” Peter trailed off, lips pursing. “He’s Tony  _ Stark _ _ , _ and I’m just, y’know. Peter Parker.”

Michelle stretched out along the couch so she could peer down at Peter’s face. “Is that how he makes you feel?” she asked sternly.

“No, no, I just.” He sighed, rubbing his face.  _ “ _ _ No _ _ ,”  _ he repeated, more firmly this time. “Definitely not. But guys, he’s got this multibillion dollar company, and it’s only been one day. And it’s not like - I mean, we didn’t make any promises to each other.” He stared into his half-empty bottle of beer, frowning sullenly. “Maybe it was just a one time thing for him.”

“But dude,” Ned groaned in frustration. “You can’t just decide that without talking to him!”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed half-heartedly. “I’ll give him another day or two, then I’ll text him.”

“Besides,” Michelle drawled as she stroked Peter’s hair consolingly. “If he  _ is _ as much as a playboy ass at the mags say, I still have my spray paint.” 

 

Aunt May always warned Peter about the dangers of anxiety on health. But when Peter started another day at his internship without word from Tony, he couldn’t help but worry just a  _ little _ _. _ And when he was unexpectedly called into Tony’s office, he thought his heart might genuinely explode out of his chest.

_ This can’t be good, _ he warned himself as he pushed open the door moments later. Tony spun around in his chair immediately, shooting Peter a grin as he rolled his eyes and pointed at the phone in his hand.

When Peter simply stared, Tony waved at the open chair in front of his desk before returning to his call. “Is that all?” he asked. Clearly the answer was no, because the man sighed and thumped his head against the back of his chair. “Why don’t you check in with Pepper?”

The voice on the other line raised enough for even Peter to hear.

“It’s my answer to everything because it’s the right one!” he hissed into the receiver before slamming down the phone. Glancing up at Peter with a smirk, he confessed, “I keep this archaic technology around just to hang up on annoying investors.”

Peter’s soft, “Oh,” was ignored as Tony jumped out of his chair and began pacing around the room. “Bruce, boring and nosey as he is,” he began, apropos of nothing. “Has informed me that there are laws and crap about these kinds of things.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if the legal system was merely a minor inconvenience. And it probably was, to him. And now Peter had become a minor inconvenience, and he nodded solemnly, silently resigning himself to whatever solution Tony has decided upon to dig himself out of this hole. Even if it were unfair, he knew logically there was nothing he could do. But maybe he could apply for an internship elsewhere; Tony should be nice enough to give a good reference --

Peter was so caught up in his rapidly devolving train of thought that he almost missed Tony’s next words: “Sorry, Pete. Company policy says we have to disclose our relationship.”

“W-what?” Peter stuttered in surprise when, instead of a termination, Tony handed him a leaflet of papers. “You're not firing me?”

Tony looked positively aghast, lips twisting up into a grimace. “What exactly is my reputation downstairs? You know what?” he interrupted, raising a hand to preemptively silence Peter. “Don't answer that.”

Peter nodded silently, staring down at the papers.  _ Employee Romantic Relationship Disclosure Agreement _ _ , _ it read across the top.

“Wait, Pete…” Tony had stopped his pacing in front of Peter, one hand splayed on his desk while the other gripped Peter’s armrest. He leaned down to stare at Peter like he was a jumbled up equation. “Why the hell would you even want to be with me, if you think my reaction to blowing you in some dingy bathroom, of my own, sober volition, is to fire you from an internship you worked your ass off to get?”

“N-no, Tony, I didn't mean it like that,” he said. But he had, in a way, and he didn’t know how to explain it. “I-I don't think you're that kind of person, it's just… I'm me, and you're  _ you _ _ , _ and I don't know why you'd want to…” Peter sighed, turning from Tony’s piercing gaze back the papers. “I'll sign this, okay? Forget what I said.”

“Pete,” Tony said sternly.

Determinedly ignoring Tony’s burning stare, he grabbed a nearby pen. His hands shook, sloshing the wet ink inside it, as he flipped to the back page. But then Tony’s hand closed over his, large fingers gently squeezing. “Pete, look at me.”

Peter let his eyes close for a moment, steeling himself before looking up. Tony’s lips were drawn into a tight line, brows furrowed. “I wasn't kidding when I said Bruce has been singing your praises,” he started. “In fact, I was going to schedule you in for a meeting soon, one on one -- and I swear, it wasn't even going to end in either of us on our knees.”

Peter snorted, his fingers twitching in the other man's grasp to curl against Tony’s palm.

“Look, I'm shit with this touchy-feely crap,” Tony admitted. Even as he adjusted his position to sit against his desk, he refused to let go of Peter’s hand. “But you're worth a whole hell of a lot, Pete. And I'm doing things right, by signing this, because you've got a future and I don't want anything, myself included, fucking that up for you.”

Peter ducked his head as a relieved grin spread across his face. Regrettably he tugged his hand out from underneath Tony’s hand, though only to pick up the pen and print his name on the dotted line.

“Hold the fuck up,” Tony said, almost startling Peter into dropping the pen. The older man flipped back to the front page before shoving the papers into Peter’s chest. “Rule number one of being an adult: read the fucking contract.”

“Did you read the contract?” Peter retorted.

“Hey, I’ve been up for some thirty-odd hours trying to make sure my lawyers got everything right while clearing this with HR. You would not _believe_ the lecture I got from Pepper.”

“Tony,” Peter said warningly.

“No, I didn’t read it,” Tony begrudgingly admitted.

Peter laughed, shaking his head at Tony’s ridiculousness as much as his own.

But he did take the contract home, and read it thoroughly. It took a while to read through; not because the legalese was particularly technical, but because he kept having to pinch himself out of the surrealness of it all. He handed it to Tony in person the next day, which turned out to be a mistake.

See, he started with a well-prepared and impassioned speech about how he wanted nothing to change in terms of their interactions at work, and certainly did not want a change in duties as some kind of misguided preferential treatment.

Tony nodded from where he sat on his desk, thoughtfully rubbing his beard throughout Peter’s lecture. “You done?” he asked when Peter finally stopped, only slightly winded.

At his nod, Tony grasped the front of Peter’s shirt and pulled the younger man in between his spread thighs, devouring his mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss. “Okay,” Peter panted against Tony’s lips. “Just this once.”

He had dressed extra professionally today to show Tony that he meant business. But maybe it had been a mistake as Tony nimbly plucked at the buttons of his shirt, dragging his tongue along each new patch of skin revealed. He paused at the waist of Peter's pants, fingers gripping his hips as he sucked and nibbled on the intern’s sensitive skin.

“Tony,” Peter groaned, hand tangling in the man's hair and hips canting as he thought of the last time they had been in this position. Instead, Tony kissed his way back up and pushed Peter's shirt aside to bite at his nipple.

“Ah!” Peter hissed, arms winding around Tony's neck to pull the man in closer as his back arched.

He couldn't help but feel exposed upon realizing Tony was still fully dressed, and reached between them to tug the man’s shirt out from his pants, slipping his hands under to rub Tony’s torso. His skin was smattered with hair, so unlike Peter, who couldn’t grow a single hair on his chin or chest to save his life.

Tony leaned forward, nibbling on Peter’s earlobe. “I want you against this desk.”

“Yes, shit, yes,” Peter groaned, nails digging into the man's biceps. “Do you have -?”

Tony pulled away to reach across the desk and throw open a drawer, and Peter huffed as he saw Tony withdraw a condom and bottle of lube. “Gotta be prepared for anything, I guess?”

Tony grinned lopsidedly, straightening and pressing a tender kiss to Peter's sweat-slicked forehead. “Stocked my office after our first date, Petey.”

Struck by sudden nerves, Peter squeezed Tony's hand over the bottle of lube. “It's been a while,” he cautioned.

Tony just smiled and gave him another kiss, this time to his cheek. “Don't worry, sweetheart, we're not going all the way today.” Then he brushed his nose along Peter's cheek, hot breath huffing against Peter's ear. “I  _ am _ going to have you bent over my desk, though.”

Peter's hips jerked, rubbing wantonly against Tony's thighs as he bit back a groan. “Am I dreaming?” he mumbled unwittingly.

The man turned him around, groin pressed against the unforgiving wood desk. Peter could feel his grin as Tony pressed his mouth to the intern’s curls. “Have you dreamt about this before, baby?”

Peter whimpered, rutting against the desk as Tony's hands settled the front of his pants, leisurely tugging at his belt. “Pete,” he demanded.

“Yes,” Peter admitted, fingers gripping the wood painfully tight as he silently willed the man to hurry up. “Except I-I didn't know what your office looked like.”

“Hmm,” Tony hummed approvingly as one hand splayed across Peter’s chest, keeping him steady, as the other finally dipped underneath the intern’s boxers. His grip was feather-light as he half-heartedly tugged at Peter's painfully hard cock. “Should I take you right against this desk where anyone can walk in on us?”

Peter moaned in response; his legs felt weak, the only things keeping his body upright being Tony's hips bracketing his and the man's hand on his chest. He could feel the Tony tugging down his neatly ironed pants and tattered boxers with his other hand. Relinquishing his death-grip on the desk, he replaced it on his cock, squeezing the base against his near-consuming desire to thrust into his palm without abandon.

He bit his lip, eyes squeezing shut. He could hear the crinkle of the foil wrapper as Tony brought the condom to his lips to tear open, the popping lid of the lube followed by a slick squirt.

“Knees tightly together, sweetheart,” Tony instructed, hand lightly slapping the intern’s thigh. His legs shook with anticipation as he shuffled his feet closer together, soon rewarded with the slide of Tony’s cock pressing between his thighs.

The man’s arm circled around his waist, hand settling over Peter’s still gripping his cock with near-painful tightness. “I got you now, baby,” he murmured.

Peter slowly released his grip, sliding his hand away so Tony’s could wrap around him. His jaw slackened at the first pull from Tony’s lube-slippery grip. It took a few clumsy thrusts but soon Tony had a rapidly quickening pace, the slam of his cock between Peter’s shaky thighs in time with the motion of his wrist. The hand on Peter’s chest pressed upward, nails gently biting into his exposed jaw before clamping onto the intern’s jaw.

“Give me that mouth, sweetie,” Tony growled as he pulled Peter’s head to the side and captured his lips in a messy, slanted kiss.

Tony’s grip on his cock tightened as the man’s thrusts grew ruthless, slamming the front of Peter’s thighs into the desk hard enough to shove it forward, the legs screeching against the floor. Peter broke their sloppy kiss to reach forward, spreading across the length of the desk to grip the opposite side, hoping to keep it steady and avoid any more noise.

It left his cock pressing into his belly, and Tony’s hand slid from his jaw down his backside, rubbing and squeezing his ass. “God, you’re so perfect,” he groaned.

Peter keened at that, glutes squeezing tightly around the man’s cock as his orgasm hit him, come splurting all over the desk. 

“Fuck, Peter.” Tony panted, gripping Peter’s hips with both hands now so he could slam into Peter’s sweaty, lube-slick thighs, hips faltering as he came soon after.

Peter could barely muster a groan as Tony draped over him, the additional weight pressing the intern’s belly into his own come. They lay there for a moment, panting, before Tony mustered the energy to lift himself up. “C’mere,” he said, sitting in the nearby chair and tugging Peter into his lap. Peter mumbled agreeably, pressing his face into Tony’s neck as the man stroked his damp curls.

“What was that about ‘no PDA at work’?” Tony asked.

Peter snorted, nuzzling his nose into the smell of the man’s cool, minty aftershave. “I  _ guess _ I could make an exception…” he mumbled lazily.

“Good,” Tony said, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. “Because we are  _ definitely _ doing that again.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [Visit me on tumblr for more of my Starker ficlets, to submit requests, and geek out with me over these dorks.](http://airebellah.tumblr.com)


End file.
